


Don't Cry

by SoulSurvivor_36



Series: The Lives We Make for Ourselves [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, F/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulSurvivor_36/pseuds/SoulSurvivor_36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delilah has escaped Malachi's angels and made her way to the bunker.  Now she has to deal with the emotional backlash of her ordeal.  Will Dean be able to help her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes 9:09 Holy Terror and 9:10 Road Trip
> 
> When I set out to write this series, my goal was to intergrate my OFC (Delilah) into the show. As such I follow the episodes trying to stay true to canon as much as possible while creating this AU where Delilah exists.
> 
> Therefore, much of the dialogue in this particular fic is almost verbatim from the episodes themselves although I worked it quite a bit to throw in Delilah's perspective and fill in the gaps between what we see in the show and the "fade to black"s.
> 
> Again, my interpretation of the layout of the bunker is based on my obsessive love for it and my careful study of whatever we see in the show seasons 8-10 (only just started watching season 11... I know I'm late)
> 
> Title and Lyrics from Guns n Roses: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=346buRwtrOU

“Hey, sweetheart,” the soft, husky voice pierced through the fog of Delilah’s sleep.  A large, calloused hand gently stroked her face as she slowly gained consciousness.  She could feel the weight of someone sitting on the edge of the bed.  She groaned and rolled to the side, not wanting to wake up right away.  She curled her right arm under the pillow and felt something cold and hard and suddenly she was awake.

In a lightning fast motion, she grasped the handle, sitting up and sliding the angel blade out of its hiding place and under her attacker’s chin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean Winchester said, raising his hands up and away from her.

Delilah held the blade pointed at his throat as she breathed quickly in and out, her heart beating out of her chest.  She glared at the man in front of her, fixing his green eyes with her golden brown ones, scanning his face for the tell-tale signs of deception.

“Lilah, I need you to calm down,” he told her.

“Who are you?” she spit at him.

“Just put the blade down, Lilah, please.”

She raised the long blade slowly and pressed it against his soft skin.  “Who are you?” she repeated slowly, each word a cold threat.

Just then, another man came charging into the room with a gun in his hand, scanning the corners for threats.  He lowered his gun and frowned, shaking his long hair from his face as he saw her.

“Sam, let’s try to not startle the girl holding the blade to my throat ok?”

“What’s going on Dean?” he asked, clearly trying to make sense of what he saw.

“Sam?”

Her eyebrows came together as she stared at the tall man standing just inside the doorway.  The way he stood, his mannerisms, the way his brow furrowed as he stared back at her perplexed was so completely Sam, she wanted to shout for joy, but her brain kept telling her this was another trick.  Her face contorted in pain, trying to sort through what was real and what was not.  She turned back to look at the man at the tip of her blade and her arm began to shake.  “Dean?” She begged him with her eyes to help her.

Dean kept his eyes fixed on hers as he shushed and crooned soothingly.  He reached slowly towards her hand holding the blade.  Delilah stared at him warily, paralyzed by her uncertainty.  “How do I know it’s really you?” she asked him.

“If I’m not me, who do you think I am?”

Delilah looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean again.

“An angel,” Delilah whispered, feeling nauseous.

Dean kept his eyes fixed on hers, “Well, there’s a very simple test isn’t there?”

He moved his hand closer to the angel blade and ran his finger along one of the edges, barely flinching as the sharp metal cut into his skin.  He raised his hand to show her, “See? Blood.  Not a winged dick...” Dean gave her a half smile as he added, “just a regular one.”

Delilah stared at the red blood running along the cut, no bright light.  Relief flooded Delilah so completely and so quickly it made her dizzy.  The angel blade fell from her hand and clattered to the floor as she threw herself at Dean, wrapping her arms around his torso and laying her head on his chest.  She could hear his steady heart beating and she closed her eyes, as he folded his arms around her and caressed her hair gently.  Big sobs rolled out of her as she squeezed her eyes and hot tears streamed down her face.  She felt like she was going to blow apart, unable to contain everything inside.

“Ssh, sweetheart. It’s ok. I got you,” Dean crooned.

Delilah was vaguely aware of Sam quietly retreating from his brother’s room and shutting the door behind him as her body shook like a leaf.  She cried in Dean’s arms for what felt like hours, letting relief replace the fear and pain as they drained out with her tears.  He rocked her gently the whole time, never letting go.

When finally her tears were spent, an incredible weariness took hold of her and she felt her eyelids heavy with sleep.  She pulled away from Dean and lay back down against the pillows.  He looked down at her, and through half closed eyes, she watched him stand and remove her boots then put them down on the ground.  He sat back down on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“You rest up.  I’ll bring you some food later, yeah?”

Delilah grabbed hold of his hand as he started to pull away, holding onto him with everything left in her.  She looked into his eyes, trying to communicate the only way her brain could.  She so desperately wanted, needed him to stay with her, otherwise she was going to fall apart and she didn’t know if she could put herself back together again.  She needed him, but had no idea how to ask, her exhausted mind unable to form coherent thoughts, her emotions running the show.

Dean looked at her, his expression tender and concerned.  He kicked off his own shoes, then stretched out on his side, laying his head on the pillow, facing her.  He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it as her eyelids closed all the way.  She felt his hand on her head again, caressing her hair and coming to rest on her neck; a warm comforting weight as she slipped back into sleep.

 

_“I got you kid, just hold on.”_

_Twelve-year-old Delilah looked up at the man in the firefighter’s suit who had just torn the door off the car.  Rain was falling inside and drenching her clothes as she huddled, shivering from shock.  The man reached in and pulled her out and as she looked into his face, she recognized the green eyes that looked back._

 

Delilah woke up with a clear mind, completely aware for the first time in a long time.  She sat up in bed and instantly recognized Dean’s room by the glow of the lamp on the desk.  She didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but she remembered feeling Dean’s comforting presence as he permeated her dreams, keeping her safe.

Dean was nowhere in sight now, but she noticed a folded pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.  She swung her legs over the side and got up.  She glanced at herself and saw she was still wearing the same clothes she had been wearing since she got kidnapped.  How long ago was that now?  A week?  She walked over to the sink and splashed water onto her face, then cupped her hands and drank deeply.  She turned off the faucet and looked into the mirror.  Her skin was looking pale, and she looked like she’d lost some weight, but otherwise, there was no trace of her ordeal.  She caught her hair in the reflection and passed her hand through it, trying to make it look like less of a train wreck.  It felt like it was coated in a layer of grime.  Delilah glanced back to the bed and the neat pile of clothes left there and decided she needed a shower before she was ready to meet the day head on.

She grabbed the clothes, smiling as she recognized Dean’s Metallica t-shirt.  She opened the door and headed down the hall, turning left at the end and heading down to the shower room.  She found soap and shampoo and proceeded to scrub every part of her under the boiling hot water, taking off a layer of skin with the filth.  When she was done she dried herself off with a towel and slipped on the jogging pants and t-shirt Dean had left for her.  She stepped out of the shower room feeling refreshed and carried her clothes across the hall and into the laundry room.  She threw it all in the industrial sized washing machine and started it.

She left the room and headed for the kitchen in search of the other residents of the bunker.  She passed her hand along the wall lovingly as she padded barefoot down the familiar hallway, feeling safer and more at home than she had anywhere else in over a month.

As she neared the kitchen, she heard voices coming from the main hall.

“So, Red Dawg and his guys were Bartholomew people?” said Sam.

“Yeah, and they got slaughtered,” answered Dean, “Which means that this new group is even worse.”  Delilah walked up the steps and saw Sam and Dean sitting at the end of the world table, looking at something on Sam’s laptop.  “Haven’t I always said that angels are dicks?”

Dean was wearing a khaki green shirt over a dark blue t-shirt.  He sat, slouching back in his chair staring at the screen, looking angry.  Sam looked upset, frown lines all over his forehead.

“Malachi,” Delilah said as both Sam and Dean looked up, surprised to see her.

Dean was out of his chair in seconds, standing up like he was spring loaded.  Delilah walked up to the table, and Dean pulled out a chair for her.  She smiled at him and sat down.  Sam was watching them with a pensive look on his face.

“Thanks for the clothes,” Delilah said, as Dean leaned back on the table.

“Uh, yeah.” He was frowning slightly, his voice a little more hoarse than usual.  He cleared his throat, “That shirt looks pretty good on you.”

Delilah raised her eyebrows and laughed as Sam scoffed and tried to cover the sound by coughing.  An annoyed look flashed on Dean’s face as he glanced back at his brother and then back to Delilah.  She looked down at herself in the overly baggy jogging pants that rested low on her hips and the shapeless t-shirt.  “Whatever you say, Dean.”

“You said something when you came in, Delilah,” Sam said as he leaned a little to see her around his brother’s body, “What was that?”

“I said Malachi.  That’s the name of the angel who had me abducted.”

Sam and Dean shifted uncomfortably, the older brother looking down at his feet with a furious look on his face.

“What did he want?” Sam asked her.

“He was looking for Castiel.  He thought I could tell them where he was.”

“Because of us,” Dean spoke angrily, “Goddamnit!”

He slammed his hand against the table as he stood up and started walking away.  Delilah watched him as he headed towards the  kitchen hallway.  Sam called after him, “Where are you going Dean?”

“Making a sandwich!” he threw back loudly, his voice rough.

Delilah turned back around and stared at the lit up map of the world in front of her, worried that she had upset Dean.  She sat, lost in her thoughts as Sam glanced at her over the top of the screen.  Talking about Malachi had been a bit harder than she thought; it brought back a lot of what Adriel had done to her.  Her thoughts grew darker and darker as she neared the edge of the pit that was her memories of that place.  Sam’s words brought her back to the present.

“So,” he said nonchalantly, “You and Dean, huh?”

“What?” Delilah looked up at him.

“When did that start?” He flicked his finger back and forth between her and the door Dean had left through.

“Oh!” Delilah paused and pondered the question.  “There’s nothing going on between me and Dean.”

Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously. “That’s not what it looked like last night. And I know my brother, something’s up with him.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said looking back down at the table, “We were hunting together before you started feeling well enough to work again.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up even more, as a look of surprise plastered itself to his face.  Delilah guessed from that reaction that Dean hadn’t told him after all.

“Seriously, Sam,” Delilah said with a sigh, “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Sam looked at her, scanning her face with a ponderous look, but didn’t say anything else.  Delilah stood up from the chair and headed for the warm comfort of the library, figuring she could seek refuge with the old books.  Dean found her, twenty minutes later, curled up in one of the high backed, red cushioned chairs, reading a large dusty volume on vampire lore.

“What is it with chicks and fangs?” he asked, teasingly, as he put down a plate with a chicken sandwich and a glass of water on the little table beside her.

Delilah chuckled, “Well, it’s no Anne Rice, but it does a good job at keeping me distracted.”

“Is that the one with the sparkly vampires?” he asked laughing, the humour not quite reaching his eyes.

Delilah stood up from her chair, putting the book down on the seat, and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

“Dean, listen to me.  What happened to me was not your fault,” she said forcefully.

Dean’s smile disappeared and he tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him.  His voice was small, soft as a child’s.  “If I wasn’t around, it never would’ve happened.”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” Delilah responded flat out, “If you hadn’t been around last year, I’d be dead you idiot.  Remember the vampires?”

He pulled her hands away, holding them in his.  “I left you out there on your own, so I could hunt with Sam.  I should’ve protected you better.”

“It is not your job to protect me, Dean.  I’m the one who chose to keep hunting.  You told me to go home.  This is all on me.”  Delilah pulled her hands out of his grasp and sat back down, leaning the thick book on her knees as she reached to the small table and picked up the sandwich.  “Thanks for the food,” she told him.

“Yeah.”

He turned on his heels and stalked out of the library, leaving her feeling unsettled.  As she ate, Delilah tried to prod her feelings towards the man, but all she could feel was numb.  She finished the sandwich, which was delicious, and then drained the water.  She figured she should check on her laundry, so she brought back the plate and glass to the kitchen on her way.  She made it to the laundry room, but found that someone had already switched her clothes to the dryer.  She turned around, not sure what to do now, and as she wandered down the hallway, she heard voices coming from Dean’s room.  She took a left and followed them.  His door was closed, but she could still hear talking coming from further down.  Delilah frowned as she noticed the light coming from one of the unoccupied rooms.

“Just drop it Sam,” Dean said from inside the room, clearly in a bad mood.

“Fine.  Just try not to be a dick for once,” Sam replied.

“A dick? How am I being a dick?  You know what Sammy? Screw you.”

Delilah took two steps into the room, effectively stopping the argument without saying a word.  Which is a good thing, because she was struck dumb by what she saw.  Dean was busy tucking sheets under the mattress corners, making the bed neatly.  Sam was leaning up on the desk every Men of Letters’ sleeping quarters seemed to have.

Dean straightened up when he saw her standing in the door, wiping his hand on his jeans nervously.  Sam was back to watching them silently, which was making Delilah feel rather self-conscious.  She turned back to Dean who was now putting a pillow case on the pillow.

“What is this?” she asked him.

Dean tossed the pillow against the headboard and cleared his throat, “We...”  Sam gave Dean a look, “Fine, I bought a mattress a while back. We seem to have people who drop in sometimes and…” another look from Sam, “Damnit Sam, don’t you have a book to read?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck,” Dean said under his breath, “Look, it’s no big deal, the mattress was bad, so I got a new one.”

Delilah took the few steps to stand beside him next to the bed.  She put her hand on his arm.

“Thank you.”

“Look, you can stay here while you get back on your feet, or as long as you want.”

Delilah looked at Dean’s face and he turned to look at her, his insecurity written all over it.  She smiled at him and turned to sit on the mattress.  It was nice and springy, with a soft pillow top.  She smiled again, glancing at Sam who returned her smile.  Dean cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna go, uh, clear the kitchen.”  And he walked out.

Sam raised his eyebrows again and shook his head slightly.  Delilah smiled to herself, staring at her bare feet, sweeping her toes back and forth on the ground, enjoying the feeling of it.

“So you mentioned Malachi was looking for Cas.  Do you know why?” Sam asked her.

Delilah stilled her feet and answered, “They didn’t say why, they just kept asking me where he was.”

Delilah felt the flutter of panic as memories of Adriel came back to her.  She shuddered and Sam came to sit beside her on the bed, draping one of his long arms around her shoulders.

“What is it?  Did something happen?” he asked, the concern obvious in his voice.

“Let’s just say angels aren’t my favourite thing in the world.  Nothing I want to talk about,” Delilah said, “At least, not yet.”

Sam squeezed her tightly for a few seconds then released her, standing up.

“I’ll let you settle in.  Just remember that you can talk to me, when you’re ready.”

“Thanks Sam.”

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him.  Neither of them bothered her for the rest of the day.  She got her dry clothes from the laundry and put it away in the dresser in her room, she also got her boots from Dean’s room.  She stared at the angel blade that she had brought back from Malachi’s for a long time, and then decided to take it with her too, placing it on top of the clothes dresser in her room  Finally she retrieved the vampire book from the library and returned to read in bed, curling up in a ball under the wool comforter.

 

_“Daddy loves you.” Smell of beer._

_“Well that was disappointing.” Broken corpse._

_“You don’t learn too fast do you?” Dean._

_“Where is Castiel?” Feel of steel cutting her open._

 

Delilah woke gasping, sweat beading her skin.  The lamps in the room were on and she tried to focus on something to steady her mind, but there was nothing familiar, nothing to grab onto.  She threw off the blanket and padded to the door, opening it a crack to peek into the hallway.  The lamps out there were barely casting any light, nighttime lighting.  Delilah pulled the door open and walked the few feet to room 11.  She quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

Dean was lying on his side, one arm stretched out, his pillow tucked between his shoulder and head.  His face was relaxed in sleep, his mouth slightly open as he breathed in and out.  Delilah craved comfort, someone to chase away the bad dreams.  Without thinking, she lifted the blankets and slid herself under them, shifting the mattress with her weight.

Dean woke up with a start, but Delilah tucked herself against him, seeking out his warmth.

“Lilah?” he said, his voice all groggy, “What’s wrong?”

Delilah shook her head, not wanting to give weight to her nightmares by talking about them.  Dean didn’t press the point.  He wrapped his arms around her and held her close until she fell asleep again.

 

She woke up the next day, sometime in the morning, and headed back to her own room.  Dean had already gotten up.  She retrieved the vampire book and headed to the library to find a more comfortable place to read.

Kevin was already in there, sitting at the middle table, reading the stone tablet he carried around with him.  Delilah sank down into the red chair from before.

“Hey Kevin,” she called out to him.

“Hey!  You’re looking better.”

“Thanks, I feel better.  What are you working on?”

Kevin sighed, “Same as always, trying to find a way to put the angels back in Heaven.”

Delilah’s stomach flipped uncomfortably and she nodded her head.  She opened the book and settled in to read, letting Kevin focus.

Dean strayed into the library a little bit later and set up his laptop across from Kevin.  He glanced over at her and she smiled, neither of them mentioning the night before.  He was wearing his burgundy shirt today, she liked that colour on him.

The three of them sat in companionable silence, as Dean searched the web for signs of the angels and Kevin read the tablet, each, every now and then, mentioning some tidbit they noticed.  More than once Delilah found herself staring at Dean’s broad shoulders as he worked.  His presence was comforting, like a balm on her wounds.  A little while later, Sam walked in and said he had a few things to do in town, and that he’d bring back a pizza for dinner, then he left.

It was easy, being with the hunters.  She had the comfort of being around people but they didn’t prod, didn’t ask her questions when she got uncomfortable.  They were letting her be, giving her space, as she slowly tried to set her mind right again.  She ate when she got hungry, she had a place to sleep; all she needed to feel at home.  And she had Dean.  His presence was soothing, clearing her mind when on her own it could get so troubled.  She craved being near him.  It dawned on her, as she sat there staring at him, that maybe there was more to this than just physical attraction.

Delilah’s breathing quickened, and her heart beat wildly, hurting her chest. Panic was taking over her body and she stood up abruptly, startling Dean and Kevin.  Dean looked at her, concern etched on his face.

“Lilah? What’s wrong?” he asked her.

She left her book behind and headed out the back door.  She had to get away from…  From what?  Delilah charged down the hallway, past the shower room and found herself at t-junction.  She turned left and ran up the stairs into the garage, the lights turning on automatically as she stepped in.  She scanned the room quickly, and found what she was looking for, tucked away in the first spot near the door.  She opened the back door with a creak and lay down on the backseat.  She stared at the tan ceiling and took deep breaths, trying to find her calm again and fighting the memories that were so close to the surface now; her mom dying, her dad drinking, angels, and now these feelings.

 

Dean found her a little later.  He knocked on the window and Delilah shifted her gaze to his.  He opened the door, and Delilah sat up, giving him space to sit down with her.  They sat together staring out the front of the car.  Delilah had managed to get a handle on things, but it left her feeling numb again.  When he started talking, Delilah turned to look at him.

“Sammy and me, when we were young, we used to play in here.  For hours.  Dad would be off meeting some hunter or hunting some monster and he’d hand me a gun and tell me, ‘Dean, take care of your brother, he’s your responsibility.’ Sam would take out some toy and we’d play.  There’s still army men stuck in the ashtray.”

“How old were you?”  Delilah asked him.

“I dunno, Sam was maybe four, so I guess I would’ve been eight or nine.”

Delilah felt overwhelming sadness for the little boy, who was forced to grow up way too fast, because his mother died and his father didn’t know how to take care of him.  Though their pasts were completely different, she found that similarity unsettling.

Delilah turned her body towards him, bending her leg onto the seat and put her hand on his arm.  He turned to look at her and she could see in his face that this was a happy memory – playing with Sam in the car.  He was able to look back on what was undoubtedly a fucked up childhood, and find happiness.  She was in awe.  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.  Dean frowned.

“What was that for?” he asked, amused.

“You’re a good man Dean Winchester.”

His smile vanished and his eyes darkened as he turned away from her.  This was clearly not something Dean liked to hear.  Delilah’s heart ached, how could he not see it?  She put her hand on his cheek, turning his face back to her and she leaned in again, this time closing her lips over his.  She pulled back, looking him in the eye and she was terrified.  Terrified of the feelings lurking in the pit of her stomach, terrified of this need inside of her to have the hunter take care of her, and she was terrified most of all, that he would not want her.

Dean’s eyes were a dark grey-green in the semi-darkness of the Impala and Delilah could not look away from them.  They looked at each other as time stretched on and Delilah’s anxiety ate away at her, screaming at her to get away.  Then he raised his hand to her face, his fingers sliding into her soft hair, his thumb brushing her cheek gently and he closed his eyes as he leaned down and kissed her.  Delilah kissed him back, opening and pressing her mouth against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  He slipped his arm around her waist and turned his body towards her, laying his other hand on her hip.  Delilah wanted to close the gap between them, to feel him pressing against her, wrapping her in warmth, and keeping her anxieties at bay with his weight.  She leaned back against the door, pulling him down towards her and she felt him shift on the seat as he held her against him.  She could stay like this, just like this forever, kissing Dean in the Impala, a micro world that was all theirs, hidden away from the horrors that were lurking right out there.

She didn’t know who initiated it, but suddenly clothes were being shed and Dean’s mouth was on her breast, suckling at her while his fingers slipped into her.  She clung to him, holding on to his shoulders and the back of his neck as she felt little shocks of pleasure rolling through her.  He shifted his attention back to her mouth and he kissed her deeply as he sat back on the seat, and pulled her against him.  She straddled his hips as he leaned back against the door, one leg bent onto the seat, and the other leg resting his foot on the floor.

He looked at her, something different in his eyes, and he passed his hand through her long, disheveled hair.  He cupped the back of her head and she leaned down to kiss him.  She felt a throb low in her abdomen, and raised her hips up and moved them forward, feeling him sliding along her slick opening.  Dean inhaled sharply as she shifted her hips and started pushing back, feeling him slide inside of her.  She moaned into his mouth, reminded of how good he felt. They moved together, setting a slow pace as she lifted and pressed and he thrust up, leveraged by his foot on the ground.  Her emotions being so raw, it didn’t take her long to fall over the edge into bliss.  Dean pulled out not long after and spilled onto his stomach.

Delilah sat back on her haunches and watched him grab his own t-shirt and wipe up the mess.  She wasn’t sure what to do, this was unknown territory for her.  Usually, she would just get up and leave after sex, but she found that she didn’t want to go just yet.

Dean looked up at her, his face looking relaxed, his mouth almost curling up at the corners and he shifted over on the seat.  He reached up and cupped her nape again and guided her down to the crook of his shoulder and neck.  She moved her body into the space he had left her against the back of the seat, and curled her legs to fit.  Her arm slipped into the gap between his shoulders and the door, and she laid her other hand on his chest.  They lay that way a long time, his hand tracing swirls on her arm, he occasionally turning his head and kissing her hair, she breathing in his scent, mixed in with the smell of their lovemaking and she found that her mind was still; no racing thoughts, no worries and no fear.

If only this could last.

 

After a quick shower, Delilah returned to her room to get dressed.  She put on her own clothes, but decided to keep Dean’s t-shirt, smiling to herself in the mirror over the sink.  On a whim, she opened the mirror cabinet and was surprised at what she found.  Tucked away neatly on the little shelves was a new toothbrush and paste and a hairbrush.  Occasional visitors indeed… Sneaky Dean.  She brushed her hair flat and scrubbed her teeth, feeling a little more human.

She wandered towards the kitchen when she heard Sam’s voice.  She followed the sound to the library and saw him holding Dean’s computer still wearing his brown jacket, he must have just come in.  Dean was sitting in his spot from earlier, he was still wearing his burgundy shirt, but had changed the t-shirt he wore underneath.  Delilah smiled dreamily until she caught the conversation.  Dean had his work face on, clearly they were discussing a case.

“So church-lady angel was at both killings?” asked Sam.

Dean and Kevin exchanged looks, Kevin chewing on the end of his pencil, they had come to the same conclusion.  Delilah pulled out a chair at the table and sat beside Kevin.  Dean looked up at her quickly, then back to his brother.

“I’m guessing that she and whoever she’s running with, maybe Malachi,” he said, “killed Bartholomew’s bikers at the bar, and then Bart’s boys hit her back.”

“When she was recruiting those students to be vessels,” Sam finished.  Dean stared at the table, looking bleak.  Sam sighed, “Wow, a bunch of kids.”

He was looking as upset as Dean, his brow furrowed as he stared at the article on the screen.

“Kevin,” Dean said, turning his attention to the kid, “Clock’s ticking.”

Delilah glared at Dean.  As if Kevin wasn’t already under enough pressure.  If she could take the burden away from him she would in a heartbeat.  Delilah got up from her chair and started scanning the books on the shelves for any material on angels.  Sam was next to her in a flash, helping her pull volumes off the shelves.  She settled herself back at the table and opened the first book.

It was time for her to get back at those winged assholes.

 

Delilah sat in the kitchen sipping at her coffee and nibbling on some toast while she read.  Kevin was messing around making himself a sandwich.  They had been at it most of the night, only calling it quits around two in the morning, Sam and Kevin retreating to their rooms on the other side of the bunker, leaving Dean and Delilah to head towards theirs.  As they had reached Dean’s room, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her up against him for a kiss.  “I’m right here if you need me.” He had whispered into her ear.  Delilah had kissed him again, lingering a little longer than necessary maybe, and then moved on to her own room.  She was feeling giddy from this new emotion.  It was strangely liberating, not worrying about what it was exactly.  Dean was setting the tone and Delilah was letting herself go with it.

She had managed to fall asleep, but the nightmares woke her up early.  She had showered, then headed to the library to get one of the books she had found: notes kept by one of the Men of Letters describing various sigils and wardings used to repel or control angels.  She had bumped into Sam who was already dressed and heading out the door.

Dean walked into the kitchen his phone in his hand, crossing Kevin on his way out with his PB and J.

“Hey,” he said, “You seen Sam?”

“He went out,” answered Kevin, turning in the steps to look at him.

“Where?” he asked, surprised.

“I don’t know.”  Kevin frowned, “You notice he’s doing that a lot?”

Dean frowned too, looking at nothing in particular, “Yeah,” he muttered to himself.

Kevin turned and walked out of the kitchen.  Dean glanced at Delilah sitting at the table and smiled.  He sat on the stool beside her, facing her.  She turned her head to look at him and smiled back.  He surprised her when he leaned forward and kissed her.

“Good morning,” he said.  She was about to respond when he took her coffee and stood up again taking a sip.  He made a face glaring at the cup like it had betrayed him, “What the hell is this?”

“I’m sorry, I like some coffee with my sugar in the morning,” she stuck her tongue out at him, “Next time, get your own.”

He made a sound of disgust and then drained the rest of the contents into the sink, therefore getting another annoyed look from Delilah.  “This stuff will kill you.”

“Yes, because straight up coffee is so much healthier,” she answered waspishly.

Dean smiled but his reply was interrupted by his phone ringing.  He glanced down at the screen and then answered, “Yeah.”  There was a pause while Dean listened, all traces of playfulness gone from his face.  “How do you know that?”  Delilah watched him, concerned.  Then he turned to look at her, looking strained.  “How?” he spoke into the phone, still looking at her.  Then he frowned in confusion and looked away, mumbling.  “What’re you...” then he spoke up, “Cas, where are you?”  Delilah straightened up, realizing who Dean was talking to.  Whatever the angel was telling him had Dean dumbfounded; his eyes wide and his mouth slack.  “Wait, you’re… you’re back?  You got your mojo?” Another shocked pause, “And you’re ok with that?”  Dean frowned, looking upset again, “Cas,” he started, but clearly got interrupted as he stopped and listened.  “Uh,” Dean started confused, “Yeah, why?”  His face fell, “What?”  Delilah stood up when she saw the look on Dean’s face, he looked scared.

He hung up the phone, “Sonofabitch!” he shouted, then took off out of the kitchen.  Delilah followed him to the library, her heart pounding.  Something was wrong.

He slammed his hands down on the table where Kevin was working, panic all over his face.

“I need a spell, ASAP,” he said in a rush.

Kevin slowly straightened up from his reading position, without looking at him, and sighed, “Everyone always needs a spell, and it’s always ASAP.”

Delilah leaned up against the column and kept an eye on Dean, worried.

“Alright, listen to me,” Dean said sternly.  He straightened up a little, gathering his thoughts before continuing, “An angel can’t be expelled by another human.  Only by the host, right?”  Delilah frowned, what was this about? “Well, what if there was a way to power down the angel so that it wasn’t in charge for a few seconds?”

Kevin looked up at Dean confused, “What?”

Dean went on earnestly, “For instance, if… If hypothetically, I wanted to speak to the vessel but not have the squatter listen in.”

Kevin continued to look confused as he asked why, but understanding was dawning on Delilah.  This was about Sam.  What did Castiel tell him?

“Why?” Dean repeated, sounding agitated, “Kevin,  we’ve got tons of possessed humans out there.  You with me?  And when the angels kill each other off, the humans are taking it in the teeth.” Kevin was looking confused again. “So what if I wanted to clue the human in so that he, or she, could spit the angel out?  That’d be a good thing right?” he finished in a rush.

Delilah pushed off from the column and put her hand on Dean’s shoulder, they exchanged a look while Kevin, still clearly confused, agreed.  Dean turned back to him.

“Okay.  So hit the angel tablet, let’s go.”  He turned away, Delilah’s hand falling from his arm, and headed back towards the main hall.

“Now?” Kevin called after him.

“Yesterday, Cinderella!” Dean called back over his shoulder and walked out.

Kevin sat back in his chair, looking dejected.  “I always get treated like crap around here.”

Delilah put her hand on his arm.  He looked up at her as she spoke. “I think this might be important Kevin.  Listen, I’ll help you.  I found a book yesterday that might be useful.  You get started on the tablet and I’ll go get it.”  She tapped his arm and walked out, following Dean.

She walked into the kitchen, but he wasn’t there.  She grabbed the notebook and went back to join Kevin in the library.  They worked in silence, completely focused on their task.  They got lucky.  Barely an hour later, Kevin suddenly stood up, his finger on the tablet.  Delilah looked up at him.  He furiously drew something on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

“The tablet seems to say that there is a sigil that would put an angel to sleep.  Did you come across anything like that in there?”

Delilah took the paper from him and looked down at the partial drawing, she quickly leafed through the book, “Yeah, it looks a lot like something I saw earlier.  Here.”

She turned the book around to Kevin, “That’s it!”

“Yeah, but Kevin, the Men of Letters’ book says this sigil binds an angel, it doesn’t put it to sleep.”

“They got it wrong.  Sometimes the Enochian is hard to interpret, a lot of the characters can have different meanings based on how they’re paired.”

Delilah’s eyebrows shot up.  “Ok.  You’re sure this is the right sigil?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Let’s go find Dean then,” Delilah said getting up from her chair.

“He’s in the garage,” Kevin told her without hesitating.

She looked at him, “You sound sure.”

Kevin looked at her as he picked up the Men of Letters’ book to read the spell, “He always goes to the garage when he’s agitated.”

Delilah raised her eyebrows in surprise, then walked to the back of the library and out down the hallway to the garage.  The lights were already on and music was blaring from a stereo on the ground near the office: Zepplin.  Dean was hunched over Baby’s engine in his black t-shirt, his jean shirt hanging from the office’s door handle.  He was fine tuning God knows what and singing off key.

Delilah allowed herself a few seconds to indulge in the sights and sounds before walking up to him, “Dean…” she started saying.

“Cas was taken by Malachi’s people,” Dean said, his voice rougher than usual.  Delilah looked at him confused.  He turned to look at her.  “He was tortured and then he got away.”

Delilah glanced down at her hands.  “Oh,” was all that came out when she opened her mouth.  She crossed her arms, holding herself.  When she glanced up at him, he was staring at the floor, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Dean said through clenched teeth, then he looked up at her, an intense look in his eyes. “Every last one of them that hurt you.  They’re dead.”

Delilah took a deep breath, and walked up to him, turning around to lean against the Impala’s open hood.

“I already did that Dean,” she said, looking into his eyes as they registered surprise. “That’s how I escaped, I killed her.”  She took another deep breath, trying to keep the panic at bay.

Dean pulled her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin.  She could hear his voice vibrating in his rib cage as he spoke, “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Delilah said, shakily, “They screwed around with my memory.  Five, maybe six days.”

She could feel him practically vibrating from the effort to not explode.  She pulled away from him and looked up into his face.  “Kevin and I found a sigil you can use to talk to Sam.  I’m guessing that’s why you need to talk to an angel’s vessel right?”

“Yeah,” Dean cupped her cheek with his hand, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Delilah sighed, “I don’t know Dean, it doesn’t matter anymore.  I got away and now I’m here.  The rest I just want to forget about.”

Dean leaned down and kissed her, and she let him, hoping it was the end of that conversation.  He pulled back, walking over to the office.

“Come on,” Dean said, throwing his shirt back on and then closing Baby’s hood, “It’s time for Sam to eject the lying sack.”

They met up with Kevin in the library and then they went to one of the storage rooms where they painted the sigil behind the door.  They walked back into the war room when Kevin rounded on Dean, sounding worried.

“What’s going on?”

Delilah glanced at Dean and moved away into the library.  She sat down at the table, but could still hear them discussing in the doorway.

“I told you,” Dean said.

“You told me theoretically.  Dean, we just painted sigils in the storeroom.  What the hell?”

“You’re gonna have to trust me, okay?  And trust that I told you everything that I can for now.  Can you do that?”

“I always trust you,” Kevin said, sounding resigned, “And I always end up screwed.”

“Oh, come on always?” said Dean, annoyed, “Not always.”

Delilah saw him walking away towards the kitchen.  Kevin walked into the library and plopped himself down in his chair.  He looked up at her.

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?”  Delilah didn’t know what to say, so she just looked at him, “Of course you do.  That’s just great.”

He leaned down over the tablet again and got back to work on Metatron’s spell.  Delilah went back to her own efforts, looking through the Men of Letters’ books for clues.  A little while later, she looked up and saw Sam and Dean cross the hall, heading to the storeroom.  She desperately wanted to be with them, but knew that Dean would only be distracted so she forced herself to stay where she was.

Delilah found some strange writing transcribed in the book she was looking at.

“Kevin, what language is this?” she asked.

Kevin got up from his spot and came to stand behind her, leaning on the chair.  “That’s Enochian, angel script,” he said, turning the page back and forth to see the whole thing.

“Can you translate it?” she asked him.

“Naw, I don’t read Enochian, I only know a few of the symbols.” He stood up and turned towards the bookshelf behind them, “But I found a book the other day that listed the alphabet and some common phrases.  Oh hey, Sam.”

Delilah looked up stiffly as Sam walked into the library, looking upset.  Delilah guessed the talk didn’t go so well.  She slowly got up from her chair, looking past Sam and not seeing Dean.  She grew worried, a frown forming as Sam took slow steps towards them.

“Sam?  Are you ok?” Delilah asked him warily.

“Hey, do you notice anything a little bit off about Dean lately?”  Kevin asked, as he got closer.

Sam was staring intently at him.

“Don’t worry about Dean.  Dean will be fine,” Sam said in a strange, dull voice.

And suddenly Delilah knew it wasn’t Sam.  She yelled, “Get away from him, Kevin!”

“What?” Kevin asked confused.

Not Sam raised his hand and Delilah was thrown back, some of the papers on the table flying.  She slammed against the column, hitting her head and everything went black.

 

Delilah came to, her head pounding.  She raised her arm and pressed her hand to her forehead, wincing and groaning.

“Delilah!” She heard Dean’s gruff voice exclaim.

She opened her eyes, barely registering Dean sitting on the floor by the other column as she saw Kevin, laid out on the floor right beside her, his head facing away.  She sat up slowly and looked at Dean and saw the tear rolling down his cheek.

“Dean, what happened? What’s wrong?” Delilah asked him.

He put his hand to his face and Delilah frowned.  She caught a whiff of something, like the smell in the air after a lightning strike.  She glanced down again at Kevin.  Her mind reeled at what she saw.  He was lying motionless, his head turned towards Dean, the burnt out remains of his eyes smouldering like embers.

Delilah crawled the few feet over to him and pressed her fingers to his neck, seeking out a pulse she already knew wouldn’t be there.  She hung her head in grief.  What the hell happened?  Zeke had gone apeshit, no other explanation.  She saw the yellow piece of paper sitting on Kevin’s immobile chest.  She picked it up.  On it were two words: Kevin Tran.  She sat back on her heels and looked into Kevin’s face again, and the tears started falling.  Why would Zeke kill Kevin?  Was he just another piece in the angel wars?  Were they all just pawns being moved around the board?

She heard Dean shift from his position on the floor.  She looked up as he got to his feet and walked over to them.  His expression was closed off as he bent down and picked up Kevin’s body in his arms.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.  He turned away and walked out of the library.  Delilah followed him up the stairs and out of the bunker, Dean never saying a word, or making a sound.  It was nighttime, the stars shining brightly in the sky.  Dean laid Kevin out on the grass and walked into the woods.  He came back with an armful of dry branches, dropped them in a pile and disappeared again.  Delilah fell to her knees beside Kevin as she realized what Dean was doing.  The tears started flowing again as she took Kevin’s head in her lap and combed her fingers through his soft hair gently, like she was trying to comfort a child.

When he’d gathered enough wood, Dean started stacking it around Kevin’s body, making the funeral pyre.  Delilah stood up, feeling numb as he finished at Kevin’s head, hiding him entirely from sight.  Dean stuffed dry grasses between the branches then pulled his Zippo out of his pocket and lit the fire.  He stepped back and stared as the flames spread first to the grasses and then caught on the dry branches, the fire quickly engulfing Kevin’s body in a blaze.  Delilah walked over to Dean and laid her hand on his arm.  He didn’t react, just kept on staring at the fire in front of them lighting up the cold November night.  Delilah put her arm around his back and squeezed his arm as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

The fire burned on for over an hour, Dean standing watch the whole time, silent and numb.  Delilah went back inside before he did.  She walked into the library and stared at the books and papers laid out on the table.  The two tablets were gone.  Kevin never went anywhere without them, how appropriate that they were now nowhere in sight.  She walked over to the red chair and sat down, holding her knees to her chest as she stared at what was left of Kevin: his research notes, his cell phone, the crusts from his sandwich and a glass of milk.

She almost didn’t notice when Dean came back inside.  He stood at the end of the table and looked down at where Kevin died.  Delilah’s heart ached seeing the grief stricken look on his face, his eyes red from staring at the fire.  She watched him as he picked up Kevin’s cell phone and looked at something on the screen.  And his face changed: his eyebrows furrowed, his lips pursed into an angry line, his eyes squeezed shut. Delilah stood up from the chair and took a step towards him.

She jumped when he threw the phone and swept everything on the table to the ground.  He knocked down the lamp and picked up one of the chairs and threw it across the room.  Delilah rushed forward and grabbed his shoulders.  “Stop, Dean, stop!”

He dropped his head onto her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close to him as he sobbed, the sound wrenching more tears from Delilah as she held onto him tightly.

Slowly, the sobs subsided and Dean straightened up again.  A single tear was still clinging to his wet lashes and she reached up to wipe it away with her thumb.  Dean looked at her, sadness in his face.  Then he moved away from her abruptly and left her alone in the library.

She looked around at the mess littering the floor, then headed off to her room.  She couldn’t hear anything from Dean’s room as she walked past and she didn’t stop.  He needed his space.  Things would be better in the morning.

 

Delilah spent what was left of the night staring at the ceiling in her room.  The events had inevitably led to memories of her mother’s funeral.  Friends and neighbours talking in hushed tones around her as she stared at her mother’s casket.  The neighbours had brought her, her father already spiralling down to the bottom of a bottle.  Not long after that, he had packed a couple of bags and they drove out of town, leaving everything behind.  No goodbyes, no forwarding address.  Delilah used to wonder what was happening at her old house.  She would distract herself with the idea that her mother was still there somehow, and that she had another little girl named Delilah who would go to soccer practice and hang out with her friends on a Saturday.  If it hadn’t been for her daydreams, and her fairy tales giving her hope of a better tomorrow, who knows?

When the power kicked up a notch, turning up the lights in the hallway, announcing the start of a new day, Delilah got up and headed for the kitchen.  She looked at the coffee pot sitting in the maker, it was still hot.  Dean must have gotten up earlier.  She walked back out of the kitchen and into the main hall.  She glanced into the library.  Two people were sitting there.  Dean and a man she did not know, wearing a tan trench coat.

Delilah approached carefully, trying to get a good look at this newcomer, before he saw her.  He and Dean were sitting across from each other at the first table in the library.  The man had tousled, dark brown hair and the biggest blue eyes Delilah had ever seen.  He was looking at Dean with concern on his face as he listened to him talk, clearly he cared about him.  Delilah sat down on the cement parapet just outside the library arch and listened as Dean told who she assumed was Castiel, what had happened the night before.  She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the pain in his voice.

“Sammy was dying.  What was I supposed to do?”

“You let an angel possess him?” the angel said softly in a deep gravelly voice.

“He said it was the only way, and I believed him.” He paused, “Now Sam’s gone.  Kevin’s…”

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well… sorry don’t pay the bills, does it?”  Delilah shuddered at the anger in his voice, ‘It sure as hell ain’t gonna bring Kevin back.”  She leaned her head back against the wall and wiped a tear from her face.  “We got to find that son of a bitch.”

“Dean,” said Castiel, “If the angel possessing Sam isn’t Ezekiel, then who is it?”

“Dead man walking.”  A chill ran down her spine.

“What? You’re going to destroy him?”

“Damn right.”

“You kill an angel, its vessel dies too.”

“Think I don’t know that?”  Pain crept into his voice again, “If I don’t end Sam, and that _halo_ burns him out, and I…” He paused, his voice trailing off.

Delilah couldn’t listen anymore.  She stood up and walked into the library, glaring at Dean.  How could he even suggest killing Sam?  Castiel stood, observing her curiously as she made her presence known. Dean turned his head away, then leaned onto the back of the chair in front of him and stared at the tabletop.  His voice broke, “God, I was so damn stupid.”

Delilah stood frozen, she didn’t know how to help him.  His anguish was so strong.  She walked around him and leaned up against the table end, turning her head towards him.  She laid her hand on top of his and he didn’t shake her off.  The angel’s eyes had followed her movements but now he turned his attention back to Dean, “You were stupid for the right reasons.”

Dean looked up, “Yeah, like that matters.”

“It does,” answered Castiel forcefully.  He moved away to stand at the other end of the table, “Sometimes, that’s all that matters. Listen to me.  Sam is strong.  If he knew an angel was possessing him, he could fight.  He could cast the angel out.”

Dean sighed, frustrated.  He straightened up sliding his hand out from under Delilah’s.  She kept looking at his face, he was not looking at her at all.  Delilah felt a twinge in her stomach.  He turned towards Castiel. “Maybe.  But as far as I know, he’s in the dark.  I don’t know how we clue him in.”

The three of them stood silently, each lost in their thoughts, until Castiel spoke up.

“There may be a way to access the angel’s coding.  The demons can do it.  We might be able to by-pass the angel and talk directly to Sam.”

A trace of hope crept onto Dean's face.

“And you think this will work?” he asked

“I think we should try,” answered the angel.

“Alright, where do we start?”

Castiel thought about this a few seconds, “We need to locate a demon, preferably a high ranking one who might know about the ritual.”

Dean’s face lit up slightly and he cocked his head sideways.  “How ‘bout the King of Hell?”

Delilah spoke up for the first time, “Do you mean Crowley?  He’s the King… of Hell?”

Castiel looked at them, “Yes, Crowley would know, but no one has seen him in months.”

“It’s time to play the ace up our sleeve.”  Dean walked off towards the store rooms.

Delilah shook her head, as she leaned back against the table, thinking about how another indomitable task had been dropped in their laps.  She startled as Castiel stepped into her line of vision and fixed her with his stare.  The seconds stretched interminably as he continued to look at her, eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes intense.  Delilah grew uncomfortable.

“You should take a picture, lasts longer.”

“You’re Delilah.”  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and a twinge of fear pulled at her.  This was an angel, the same kind of beast that tortured her and killed Kevin.  Castiel continued, “I heard Malachi’s people talking about you, how you virtually vanished after killing two angels.”

Delilah swallowed hard, “I got lucky, that’s all.”

“Mmm, I see.  This place stops angels from seeing inside it, which is why they’re unable to find you even now.”

“Fun fact.  So basically if I leave, I’m angel bait.” Delilah said, feeling the terror creep in from the edges.

“I can help with that.”

Castiel raised his hand at chest level and Delilah felt the panic inside her as she recalled what Adriel could do with a touch.  She was frozen like a deer in headlights, grabbing hold of the table edge and digging her fingers into it.  Castiel lay his hand in the centre of her chest.  Delilah didn’t have time to react before a pain cut deeply into her.  As soon as it started it stopped and Castiel took a step backward as she groaned and clutched at her chest.

“I warded you against angels locating you.  They won’t know where you are anymore, unless, of course, they see you.”

Delilah stared at him awestruck, “Why did you do that?  Why help me?  You don’t know me.”

Castiel continued to stare at her with his deep blue eyes that didn’t blink enough.  “Dean cares about you.  That’s obvious.  He’s lost too many people already.  By protecting you, I’m also protecting him.”

With that he walked off the way Dean had, leaving Delilah to her own thoughts.  Demon warding and now angel warding, when did this become her life?  Still, she was grateful to Castiel for his help.  It would seem that not all angels are evil and power hungry.

Delilah wanted nothing more than to go lie down but there was still the issue of the King of Hell in the dungeon.  Delilah rubbed her ribs and headed out the library and to the right.  She walked down the steps and turned left down the side hallway and then through the door to the narrow corridor linking the four storage rooms.  She listened at the door to room 7b before walking in.  Dean and Castiel were standing in front of Crowley, blocking her view of him.  Dean was offering him his own blood in exchange for the information they needed.

She was leaning against the shelves, hidden from view when she heard Crowley speak up in his oily voice and English accent.

“No need to hide from me darling.  Why don’t you come over here and we can have a little chat.  It’s not often I see new faces around here.”

Delilah hesitated then came out from behind the shelves and took a few steps into the room.  Dean was glaring at Crowley, “She has nothing to do with this.”

“My my my, aren’t we protective.”

Dean looked away, pursing his lips.  Delilah stopped on the edge of the circle etched into the floor, in the middle of which sat Crowley, behind a table, looking up at her with a hint of a smile on his face.

“Who might you be, I wonder.  Another lost lamb recruited by Moose and Squirrel?”  Delilah didn’t answer, she just kept looking at him, the supposed King of Hell.  Crowley continued, “Do you have your own sob story? Your own tragedy that threw you into the arms of the Winchesters?  What do you bring to the team other than a healthy dose of estrogen?  Maybe you’re their whore?  Good for a poke now and then when the pressure builds up?”

“Fuck you Crowley!” Dean said aggressively.

Delilah stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest, staring down the demon. “I’m no one’s whore.”

“Oh, is that so?” he answered smugly, “That explains why you reek of him.”

Dean slammed his hands down on the table, “That’s enough Crowley.”

“Look at you, Squirrel.  Jumping to defend her honour… How noble.”  He turned back towards Delilah and fixed her with his calculating gaze, “I’d be careful if I were you sweetheart.  People who become involved with the Winchesters have a nasty tendency of losing their lives.  If I were you, I’d get as far away from here as possible and not look back.”

“Crowley,” Castiel’s deep voice stretched the name out into a warning as he stared at him threateningly.

“Right!” Crowley said cheerfully, “Let’s discuss my terms, then.”

“What do you want?” asked Castiel.

“Well, for starters… A massage,” Delilah caught Castiel’s eye roll before Crowley went on, “Between the sitting and the shackles, a body gets a little stiff.”

Dean looked a little put off as he tucked the syringe of his blood into his back pocket. “Yeah, I ain’t rubbing you.”

“God no!” Crowley exclaimed, “Get Kevin.  His tiny fists can really work wonder…”

“Kevin is dead.” Castiel cut him off.

Crowley turned his attention to the angel, and actually looked disappointed, “Oh.  I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” Castiel said, moving up to the table angrily, “You tried to kill him.”

Crowley was unfazed, “I told him this was gonna happen.  I was the only person who tried to warn him.  I told Kevin to run.” He flicked his gaze to Dean.

“From what?” he asked.

“You.” Delilah looked at Dean, and he straightened his shoulders, trying to hide how much Crowley’s words hurt.  “How many times am I gonna have to say this?” The demon pushed on, “People, in your general vicinity, don’t have much in the way of a life-span.” He turned to Delilah then, “You sign your own death warrant if you hang around, mark my words.”  It was her turn to look upset, as a smug smile plastered itself to Crowley’s face. “Now,” he went on, taking on an almost cheerful tone, “I can’t teach you how to crack open an angel, it’s more… art than science.  But I can do it for you.” Castiel turned back to look at Dean and Delilah, maybe trying to gauge their reactions.  “All I ask in return is a little field trip.  Dying for some fresh air.  Chains on naturally,” he finished, lifting his chained hands and looking at the three of them expectantly.

“No,” Dean said, turning away dejectedly and walking towards the door, guiding Delilah out in front of him.

“No?” called out Crowley, stopping Dean as he listened, “Of course not.  Because if I’m plan A, I’m sure you have a totally viable, much better plan B.”

Dean took Delilah’s arm, turning her to face him.  In a hushed voice, he told her, “Listen, I need you to go.”

“Go where?  I’m not leaving you,” Delilah whispered back.

Dean’s expression was pained, “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you ok?”

“No, not ok.  I can take of myself Dean, you don’t have to protect me all the time.”

“I get that.  Believe me I do. But it’s part of my wiring ok?  So I need you to help me, by going somewhere he can’t bait you in front of me, because if I have to hear him call you a whore one more time, I swear to God, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Delilah looked into his eyes as he finished.  Something was off about him, he was speaking almost passionately but his eyes were dull, his expression closed off.  She could not read him now any more than she could when they first met.  He hadn’t been this guarded in months.  She nodded, then turned to leave as he let go of her arm.

“Ta ta pet,” Crowley called out to her, “Till we meet again.”

Dean sighed and turned back towards Crowley and his slants.

Delilah returned to her room and threw herself onto the bed exhausted.  So many things happening; the angels, Sam going AWOL, Kevin dying, Crowley’s warnings and Dean.  She didn’t really know what to make of him throughout all of this.  That he cared deeply and intensely about people was obvious in his grief at Kevin’s passing, but his over protectiveness and subsequent guilt when things went wrong, could only lead to issues, and some deep scars.

She didn’t know how much time passed as she mused but suddenly, there was a knock at the door.  Dean pushed it open and closed it behind him again.  Delilah sat up in the bed and watched him as he took a few steps into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed.  She smiled at him and he gave her a half smile back, glancing away quickly, looking awkward.

“So, Cas and I are gonna take Crowley out for some air.”  She kept her eyes fixed on his face as he explained.  “He’s a son of a bitch, but we don’t really have any options at this point.”

“What’s the plan?” Delilah asked him, moving to stand in front of him.

Dean sighed, “Well, the plan so far is to find Sam, strap him down, and have Crowley dig into his head so that, with luck, we can talk to Sam and have him eject the fucker inside him.”

“Sounds fucking thin Dean,” she said.

Dean let out a choked laugh, “I know.” He looked up at the ceiling, “Trust me, I know.  It’s fucking crazy is what it is, but what choice do I have?” He turned his eyes on hers, “It’s my little brother, Lilah.”

Delilah stretched up and kissed him, putting her arms around his neck.  Dean laid his hands on her hips, parting his lips as he kissed her back.  But suddenly he pushed her away, holding her at arms length, his eyes closed.

“Lilah, I can’t do this with you,” he said, not opening his eyes.

Delilah took a step back, pulling out of his hold.  He opened his eyes and she could see pain in the green.

“Is this because of what Crowley said?” she asked him, folding her arms over her stomach, holding her elbows.  Dean looked up and away, breathing in sharply.  Delilah felt the anger swelling up inside of her, “He’s a manipulative, lying sack of shit.  Why would you put any faith in what he says?”

“Because he’s right,” Dean said looking at her, his voice rough, “I’m poison.  Everything I touch turns to shit, and I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Fuck Crowley!” Delilah yelled, dangerously close to shedding tears in her fury, “He doesn’t rule me, I make my own way in life Dean, and so do you.”

He glanced down at the floor, then turned, grabbing on to the doorknob.  He spoke over his shoulder, “You can stay if you want, the bunker is the safest place there is.”

“Good, then I’ll see you when you get back with your brother,” Delilah said stubbornly.

Dean turned the knob and opened the door.  “I won’t be coming back.  Goodbye Lilah.”

And with that, Dean Winchester walked out of the room, leaving Delilah standing in shock.

“No,” Delilah said after a few minutes, her rage pushing her to rush out of her room and to the main entrance.  There was no one there, she rushed up the stairs and opened the door to outside, and again, they were long gone.  Delilah turned around, confused and scared, what would she do now?

She turned and leaned onto the railing around the balcony. She fell to her knees seeing what was resting on the edge of the world table.  Her brain stopped functioning, her heart felt like it stopped beating, was she even breathing at all?  She did not cry, she had no more tears left in her body, she did not feel anger or fear, nor did she feel joy or hope.  She was completely numb as she stared at the large, black iron key.

 

_Talk to me softly_

_There's something in your eyes_

_Don't hang your head in sorrow_

_And please don't cry_

_Don't you cry tonight_

_I still love you baby_

_Don't you cry tonight_

_Don't you cry tonight_

_There's a heaven above you baby_

_And don't you cry tonight_

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it. I actually wrote a completely different ending to this fic, one where there's hope for Dean and Delilah and it finished kinda happily even with the terrible demise of Kevin Tran and Sam... but it would not be true to Dean's character and so I re-wrote it.
> 
> He is flawed, that is why we love him. Maybe I'll get sick of keeping him miserable and self-loathing... but for now, he is the way he is.
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> PS Isn't Crowley just deliciously evil? I really enjoyed writing his dialogue with Delilah.


End file.
